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Kathleen’s staring daggers at him. “You moved in?”

Connor squirms in his seat. “Yeah, I did.”

She opens her mouth, then clamps it shut into a tight-lipped smile. She cuts through a piece of roasted eggplant, her knife screeching across the plate.

I stab a piece of calamari with my fork and shove it into my mouth. Maybe if we’re all too busy eating, we can forego any more conversation. The faster we get through this dinner, the better off we’ll all be.

CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

CONNOR

We climb back into Donnie’s car and I slap a hand across my face. “Uggghhh.” That was bad. Not the worst, but bad. “I’m sorry.”

“What for?”

I gesture vaguely toward the restaurant.

“It was… okay.” The words come out slowly like Donnie doesn’t really want to say them.

I don’t blame him. It was okay in the sense that no one raised their voice and no one got killed. But like, that’s a really low bar.

I wish I’d taken him up on the offer to turn around and drive right back to New York. “Now do you understand why I don’t like visiting?”

“Yes. Yes, I believe I understand perfectly now.” He’s still got his accent amped up and as much as I want to collapse into a heap of flesh and bones, there’s one particular bone that perks up.

I reach into Donnie’s lap and slide my palm up his thigh.

“Connor.”

I love how he says it. Con-ah. With a touch of sternness that sends a shiver down my spine. His dick is a little chubby when I get my hand on it and it only takes a few gentle squeezes to get it nice and plump.

“Connor.”

“Hmm?”

“I’m driving.” And his knuckles are almost white as he grips the steering wheel.

Okay, no hand jobs—or blowjobs—while Donnie’s driving the car. Although, when we get into a room with a bed… all bets are off. A couple orgasms are exactly what we need to let off some steam.

Mom’s waiting for us when we trudge up to the front door with our bags. She has her hands clasped in front of her and she looks pointedly at me, then Donnie, before speaking. “I’ve made up the guest bedroom downstairs.” She doesn’t sound pleased—at all. “Connor, I’d like to speak to you once you’ve settled in.”

My stomach sinks to the floor. I do not want to speak to my mother, not once I’ve settled in, not at any point tonight. I grab Donnie’s hand and all but drag him to the staircase that leads down to the basement.

The guest room used to be our old playroom and when Brad and I moved out, Mom turned it into her craft room. There’s a double bed in there, bins upon bins of yarn and fabric and shit, and Mom’s sewing machine in the corner.

I flop onto the bed and Donnie sits down beside me. “Uggghhh.” I fling an arm over my eyes.

“Everything’s going to be fine. It’s just for a couple of nights.” Donnie sounds like he’s trying to reassure himself.

“I’m so sorry I dragged you into this.” I honestly feel awful. Donnie shouldn’t have to put up with all this drama.

He lies down next to me, head propped up on one hand. “I’m glad I came.”

I cock an eyebrow at him, incredulous. “Really?”

“I think…” He trails his fingers up and down my stomach.

I suck it in when he gets a little too close to my ticklish zones. He ventures close, the tease, but never crosses the line.

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